Thief Of Light Part 20

G.o.ds, it was good!

Small undignified sounds escaped her and she didn't care.

But Erik drew back, his eyes dancing. "Quiet," he said. A smile so brilliant she forgot to breathe. "Naughty girl."

Immediately, his golden brown brows drew together and his lips tightened as if he'd bitten back the words he was about to say. "You all right?" The strange little breeze came back from nowhere, teasing his hair so it flopped over his forehead.

If you're going to give in to temptation, the least you can do is be thorough about it, she told herself. For answer, Prue locked her arms around his neck and tugged him down again, caught between wanting to laugh and amazement at her own daring. She'd never been demanding in bed, but then she'd never had a lover like Erik Th.o.r.ensen. It was beyond belief, what her body was doing to her. Such driving urgency, an absolute conviction that if she couldn't have him wedged high and hard inside her, preferably in the next few seconds, she'd die of the wanting. How was it even possible to experience this degree of desire, so acute she'd be babbling like a fool any second? she told herself. For answer, Prue locked her arms around his neck and tugged him down again, caught between wanting to laugh and amazement at her own daring. She'd never been demanding in bed, but then she'd never had a lover like Erik Th.o.r.ensen. It was beyond belief, what her body was doing to her. Such driving urgency, an absolute conviction that if she couldn't have him wedged high and hard inside her, preferably in the next few seconds, she'd die of the wanting. How was it even possible to experience this degree of desire, so acute she'd be babbling like a fool any second?

Sweet Sister, if she did beg, what would it matter? He'd take care of her. She knew he would because he'd promised. Surrept.i.tiously, she raised her hips, the lightest press against the glorious bulge beneath the skintight breeches. It wasn't just that he was long, he was thick. She'd tried so hard not to notice. Prue licked her lips. What would he do if she took him in her mouth, suckled him right through the fabric? Would he ask her to do that? It wasn't something she'd particularly enjoyed in the past, but to give Erik pleasure . . . Her c.l.i.toris flexed, suffusing her belly with a warmth so sweet and fierce she bit back a moan.

Panting, she came up on her elbows, watching Erik's busy fingers on her laces, first the gown, then the chemise beneath. As each inch of swelling breast flesh was exposed, he bent his shining head and kissed it. Then he licked it. Then he kissed it again.

When she groaned, he looked up, his cheeks flushed with ruddy color. "You're so beautiful, Prue," he said hoa.r.s.ely, and she couldn't doubt he meant it. Spreading her bodice open, he filled his hands with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They both sighed.

"Take your hair down." He paused, his chest rising and falling. Some of the color left his face. "Sorry. Will you undo your hair? Please?"

He helped her to sit up and together they untied the tapes of her gown and drew it off, leaving her clad in only brief, silky drawers and her best chemise, the one embroidered with silvery touchme blossoms. Fresh from the bath, she'd simply decided she needed to look her best and slipped it over her head with a frisson of pleasure. Now she knew why she'd chosen it.

"Ah. Pretty." Erik hooked a finger under one strap and then the other, slipping them off her shoulders. The chemise fell to her waist. "Yes," he rumbled, his voice very deep. "G.o.ds." A sharp inhalation. "What would you like next, sweetheart?"

Prue pulled the last hairpin free. A sheaf of glossy brown hair slipped down over her shoulders, dark locks tumbling over the paleness of his sleeve. "What?" she said stupidly. Why ask her opinion when he was supposed to be sweeping her away?

Erik's jaw tightened. "I can't-won't-tell you what to do. You set the pace." But even as he spoke, he was spearing his fingers into her hair, pulling her closer. The breeze picked up, the costumes swinging to and fro on their rack.

"Off," she mumbled against his mouth, plucking at his shirt. "Off. "

He reared back, ripping at his laces. That accomplished, he held out a wrist. "The cuff's tight." His eyes glinted. "Help me?"

It should have been simple, but her fingers trembled so badly, the small b.u.t.tons kept slipping from her grasp. Erik hummed happily, rasping her nipples with his free hand, stroking her belly through the silk, making her giggle, silly as a giddy girl.

The shirt floated, billowing in the air before it sank to the floor. She swallowed. Merciful Sister. Acres of tawny skin over slabs of hard muscle, a deliciously raspy sprinkling of hair arrowing down over a cobbled stomach. The strange talisman on its chain, the half-healed scratches. She couldn't breathe. Prue laid her palm over his heart, rubbing in a gentle circle. The small disk of his nipple peaked sharply and he hissed.

"Stop." He clapped a big hand over hers. "I can't think straight when you do that."

"Really?" She laughed out loud, fizzing with joy. "What about this?" Leaning forward, she took his nipple delicately between her lips and suckled. Then harder.

Erik bucked and swore. Sinking his fingers in her hair, he exerted a gentle, but steady pressure. With a final, regretful lick, Prue released him. "You make me greedy," he said, his voice thick. "G.o.ds, I have to see you. Take-" He broke off, swallowed hard and started again. "Will you take off the rest?"

"Maybe." Loving this, Prue slanted him a teasing glance. "Let me go." When he did, she sank back and raised her arms over her head, arching her pelvis, gazing at his tense face from under her lashes. His stare followed every movement, as weighty as a touch, traveling up her arms to lock on her crossed wrists. It might be shameless, but G.o.ds, this was a whole new power, a game she'd never felt safe enough to play. Where his body touched hers, she could feel tremors coursing through him, bone-deep. His control was costing him dear, and it went to her head like spiced wine.

Kicking off her evening slippers, she ran a bare foot up his booted calf. "You do it," she murmured.

Long fingers sank into silk and gripped. "Are you sure?"

Prue stared, a little puzzled. "Yes."

The word had barely left her lips before Erik had ripped the garments off and tossed them over his shoulder. With a sort of formless growl, he launched himself at her body, his big warm hands everywhere, sliding up her thighs, pushing them wide, one finger sliding easily into her depths, then two.

Prue gave herself over to sensation, some small, still-rational corner of her mind astonished at her own abandon. Her body bowed up off the couch, clenching on his fingers. He grunted, setting up a rhythm of gentle thrusts, twisting his wrist, hitting the spot inside that was so sweet and wicked she sobbed with pleasure.

With his other hand, he reached over her head and gripped both her wrists, holding her with easy strength. Dipping his head, he sealed his lips over hers and stole her soul, along with her breath. His tongue was strong and deft in her mouth, his clever fingers agile, ma.s.saging her c.l.i.toris from deep inside.

She was comprehensively pinned, lost under his big body. She hadn't even realized how she'd yearned for it. No responsibility, no burdens or expectations. All she had to do was follow Erik's lead and unimaginable pleasure would be hers. It made her dizzy to think of it.

From the moment Chavis had stalked out the door of their tum bledown lodgings, she'd had no one but herself to depend on. When she and Rosarina had arrived at The Garden of Nocturnal Delights early that same bright morning, both had been desperate for work-Rose's only commodity her fierce dark beauty, Prue's her gift for numbers and the skills she'd learned in Master Ando's dusty counting-house.

Work she'd been given-plenty of it, every day, many nights past midnight. Busy, conscientious Mistress Prue. Until she and Rose ama.s.sed sufficient funds to risk everything and buy The Garden.

All those lives-and her daughter's future-dependent on Prue's business ac.u.men, her ability to get things done. She hadn't failed them yet, but if she allowed herself to think of it too much, too often, her belly roiled with apprehension.

But now-for this short time-she could relax into Erik's effortless mastery of her responses, give herself to him to be thoroughly and delightfully debauched. She wouldn't have to make a single decision, think a single logical thought. All that existed was the giving and receiving of physical pleasure, nothing more.

When he was gone, there'd be the knowledge that once, just once, she'd done this crazy, beautiful thing. She, sensible Prue McGuire. Real life could wait in the wings until she was ready to pick it up again.

Prue squirmed, resisting his grip, loving the way he held her with such ease, not hurting, not crushing, just enough and no more.

Gradually, his movements slowed. He lifted his head, his hair brushing her cheek. "I'm rushing you."

"No, no." Prue squeezed her thighs on his hand, but he slid his fingers free nonetheless. Prue's jaw dropped, her arousal cooling a little.

"What do you want me to do?" he said.

"Do?" It came out perilously close to a squeak. "You don't know?"

Erik's jaw set in that obstinate line she already knew so well. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it. Anything. I swear." Slowly, he rose and backed away, giving her s.p.a.ce, room to breathe, to think.

Prue's whole body resounded to the beat of her blood, as if her heart were a temple gong and he'd struck it. Boom, boom Boom, boom. Boom, boom Boom, boom.

"This isn't quite . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut. Then she looked at him, really looked.

He stood foursquare on the tattered rug, quivering with tension, his pupils so expanded his eyes appeared almost black with l.u.s.t. A pulse ticked madly at the base of his throat and his wide chest rose and fell as if he'd been running. His hair lifted away from his shoulders, the fair, shining locks blown back by an unseen wind.

Erik Th.o.r.ensen was the most erotic thing she'd seen in her life, the muscle in his long thighs beautifully framed by those absurd boots, his c.o.c.k straining the demon king's breeches.

Prue wet her lips. "f.u.c.k me," she whispered.

21.

Lord's b.a.l.l.s, yes yes! Erik had never heard anything as enticing in his life as her soft, carnal mouth shaping the wicked words, her voice, gone all husky, saying them out loud.

f.u.c.k me.

But what he really loved was the sheer abandon of her, so far gone already she was splayed delightfully over the shabby couch, all pink-tinted, honeyed curves, topped with stiff, velvety nipples that made his mouth water. His proper Mistress McGuire, showing him everything. Erik's ravenous gaze zeroed in on the dark, springy curls between her smooth thighs, the shy, ruffled folds all pink and puffy and slick.

The taste of her from this morning, so female, earthy and tart and sweet on his tongue. Holding her eye, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, while his c.o.c.k reared like a beast. When she gasped, her pretty eyes opening wide, the Voice bubbled in his throat, the instinct fighting to be free, to d.a.m.n him forever. Touch yourself, Prue. Show me what you like Touch yourself, Prue. Show me what you like.

He bit it back, swallowing hard. f.u.c.k it all to h.e.l.l, the strength of the temptation was incredible, ruthless, worse than ever before. Because from the moment she'd raised her lips to his, he'd known she was withholding something. A growl rumbled in his chest. d.a.m.n the perversity of his soul, because he wanted it, whatever the h.e.l.l it was, with a wicked, driving need.

Command Prue and he'd have that elusive something, he'd possess her utterly. Each time, she succ.u.mbed more quickly than the time before. But if he did it, overwhelmed her with the Voice, he'd never know the difference between true and false, given and compelled. Never Never . . . Doubt-it was a poison worse than prettydeath, the favorite instrument of a.s.sa.s.sins on every known world. In the end, it'd destroy whatever it was they had together. He couldn't do it to her, to his brave, clever Prue, couldn't take the choice from her. . . . Doubt-it was a poison worse than prettydeath, the favorite instrument of a.s.sa.s.sins on every known world. In the end, it'd destroy whatever it was they had together. He couldn't do it to her, to his brave, clever Prue, couldn't take the choice from her.

Even worse, she had no idea of the dark desires surging within him, battering at his resolve, making nonsense of the code he'd worked out for himself, the oaths he'd sworn. He'd be better not to speak at all, not a solitary word, because if the Voice broke through his control, he'd terrify her, straitlaced Mistress McGuire. h.e.l.l, what he needed was a gag, away to keep them both safe. He clamped his lips together with grim resolution.

There must be a storm brewing outside, because the sound of the wind banged around inside his skull, making coherent thought impossible.

At his first fumble with the G.o.dsbed.a.m.ned breeches, his c.o.c.k leaped forward as if it were spring-loaded, seed thickening in his b.a.l.l.s, seething at the root. Insisting. Erik abandoned the breeches, threw himself into the single chair and attacked the buckles on the tall boots. To a litany of breathless curses, he hauled them off, all the time conscious of a blue green gaze so intense it scorched his skin.

The talisman swung out and back, b.u.mping his breastbone, reminding him of what he mustn't do.

Lord's b.a.l.l.s, he had it! The perfect solution.

Ripping off the breeches, he stood before her, one hand cradling the pulling weight of his rampant shaft. "Sweetheart," he said, panting a little. "We need to slow down. I don't want to frighten you."

Her chin went up, bless her. "You don't."

Leaning forward, he ran his tongue over the soft swirl of that fascinating dimple. Kissed it. "You've had men like me before?"

"No! I mean . . . I don't know. How could I?" Her breath was coming so hard, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s quivered with the force of her respiration. Inside him, the beast raged.

Softly, softly.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I'm giving you control. Come down here, lie on me." Slowly, he sank down to the rug, drawing her with him, arranging her small, supple body over his, her nipples brushing his chest, his erection prodding shamelessly into her belly. Everywhere they touched, energy sparked as if lightning lurked in the room, waiting. His head was filled with a rushing noise.

Prue's fingers dug into his shoulders. Erik stroked his palms down either side of her spine, relishing the satin of her skin, the resilience of the healthy muscle beneath. He finished by shaping his palms to the high curves of her glorious bottom, tracing the dimples there with his fingertips. Oh, the things he could do with that a.s.s!

With a sigh, he lifted his arms over his head and wrapped his fingers around the leg of the couch. "I'm at your disposal," he rumbled. "Do whatever you like. f.u.c.k me however you want, just f.u.c.k me."

Did she have any idea how expressive her face was?

First the flicker of shock, then the speculation as she sank her teeth into that delectable lower lip. After that . . . her eyes flared with a woman's l.u.s.t. But it was the tremble of the small, strong hands braced on his shoulders that made him say, "Believe me, there's no way to get this wrong. Please yourself and you'll please me."

But he couldn't help rolling his hips up as a hint.

Slowly, she sat up, walking her hands down his chest to his stomach. When she rose and settled across his hips, his c.o.c.k split the lips of her s.e.x perfectly, dragging his burning length through her folds. Erik groaned at the blissful slipperiness lubricating his sensitive skin.

Peripherally, he was aware of the low vibration of thunder, the wind rising, so close it seemed almost in the room. But that was impossible.

"Whatever I want?" Apparently fascinated, she swirled a fingertip around his navel. But simultaneously, she shifted her hips, working herself over him again, from back to front. When his bare crown nudged her c.l.i.toris at the top of the stroke, she gasped aloud, a flush sweeping up all the way from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her cheeks.

Erik's fists clenched so hard on the leg of the couch he heard the wood creak. He should have realized it would be more than he could bear. Either he'd spurt all over himself like a green boy or he'd rise up in a storm surge of domination, bearing her down to the floor, shoving his thick, hungry c.o.c.k inside, deep, deep, where his beast longed to be.

"Ah, that's good." Prue came forward, her hands braced on his chest, her hair swinging down in a swathe that brushed his ribs with a cool, tantalizing caress. Slowly at first, then more frantically, she shifted her hips, sliding their intimate flesh together, gasping at the top of every stroke.

G.o.ds, she was sensitive! Erik squeezed his eyes shut and hung on grimly. C'mon, c'mon C'mon, c'mon, chanted a swelling chorus in his brain. Put it in, for the G.o.ds' sake. Put it in, for the G.o.ds' sake. A few words, that was all. A simple command. The Voice rumbled in his chest, fighting to be free. A few words, that was all. A simple command. The Voice rumbled in his chest, fighting to be free.

Blessedly, Prue rose, fumbling her fingers around him, fitting him to the soft narrow opening of heaven.

Every cell in his body cried out with relief and antic.i.p.ation. He loved f.u.c.king, no question of it-what man didn't?-but this was very nearly his favorite part, the first inch, the push past that initial resistance into slick, resilient walls of flesh.

Erik released his death grip on the couch to clasp Prue's curvy waist. "That better?"

Her sweet t.i.ts bobbed with the force of her breath. "Yes. Sister, you're so, so . . . Nngh." She sank down a little and his head reeled with the heat, the tight, creamy glove of her.

Reflexively, he arched up with his hips and she took another inch, gasping.

"f.u.c.k it, Prue," he panted. "How long has it been?"

"Five, no-six-years." She shot him a glinting look. "But I haven't forgotten-G.o.ds-how."

It took them several agonizing, glorious minutes to work him all the way in, an inch at a time, her s.e.x fluttering around him in panic and arousal.

Luxuriously, Erik ran his palms over her flanks, up over her ribs, to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Without a word, he buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her down, sealing her small body all along his. His c.o.c.k thumping with the strut of his blood, he opened his mouth to devour hers, sinking into the kiss.

"Now," she whispered into his mouth. "Now."

"Yes. f.u.c.k me f.u.c.k me." More than a little of the Voice had escaped that time, he knew, but it hardly mattered, because she was already rising cautiously, using the support of his big hands around her waist.

She shivered, gooseflesh breaking out on her arms, her chest, ruch ing her nipples to tight, velvety points of desire. "Oh, you feel so good." She slid down, releasing a small shriek. The sleek muscles in her thighs flexed. Back up, faster. Down. "I can feel you in my throat."

Erik huffed out a laugh, punching up into the escalating rhythm, meeting her with the firm slap of his thighs against her b.u.t.tocks. "That's for later." f.u.c.k, he could see it all so clearly, Prue on her knees, suckling, licking, crooning in her throat, glorying in the erotic torture she dealt him. His hands deep in her hair, her sweet tongue moving over his flesh, loving him. The mistress of his pleasure, as much as he was the master of hers.

Impossibly, he swelled, thickening. Prue cried out, her back arching in a beautiful bow, her inner walls clamping on his girth. He'd never heard music sweeter than the formless, breathy noises she made in extremis, his prim and proper Prue. He wanted more, whole choruses of them, rising above the clamor of the storm. She must be close. As for him-he had only seconds left, the seed boiling against the tender skin of his b.a.l.l.s.

Ruthlessly, he tightened his grip, increasing the pace, thrusting his whole brutal length in and out, to the root. "C'mon," he panted. "Go over, love. Go over."

"Nearly . . ." Prue keened. "Can't, can't." She writhed, tears sheen ing her extraordinary eyes. The wind tossed her hair about in dark, silky skeins.

Erik slid one hand over the soft curve of her belly and furrowed down into her pubic hair. He paused, choking. G.o.dsdammit. Her choice.

"Shall I touch?"

"Yes, yes yes!" She leaned back, opening herself to him, spreading that pretty pink cleft so he could help her.

When he rubbed, as gently as he knew how, Prue stiffened. A split second later, she was bouncing so vigorously, he had to steady her with the other hand. The pad of his forefinger slid over the small prow of her c.l.i.toris, thrillingly fast.

Mistress Prue McGuire threw her head back and screamed her pleasure, loud and long. Her s.e.x clamped down on him so hard he saw stars.

He was gone, an extended rush from his swollen s.c.r.o.t.u.m, flooding the length of his rapturous c.o.c.k, spurting hot jets of relief. f.u.c.k, so good, so good. It unraveled him, this mind-numbing pleasure. The air crackled with thunder. Every muscle in his body went slack and his head rolled on the rug. Ah, the aftershocks were exquisite, a series of delicious, pointy-tongued licks deep in his loins.

Prue had subsided on top of him in a boneless bundle. Erik stroked her shoulder, trailed his fingers down to her hip. Still breathing.

G.o.ds, he'd got through it. No mistakes. Good for him. Contentedly, he drew wobbly circles over the cheeks of her luscious a.s.s. Later Later, he thought muzzily.